The Holy Dark
by catmint tea
Summary: A journey, in five parts, when the inspiration struck. Loki/Darcy. Gets a little steamy, a bit of BDSM.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A journey, in five parts. The idea for this is poached from some other fic I read somewhere, years ago, and the song and the scenario have been rolling around in my head.**

* * *

 ** _Chapter 1_**

* * *

 _I've heard there was a secret chord_

 _That David played and it pleased the Lord_

 _But you don't really care for music, do you?_

 _It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth_

 _The minor fall, the major lift_

 _The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

* * *

Darcy walked up the corridor of the Avengers tower, hearing the strains of a piano in the distance. She carried a stack of files, a pencil stuck through her hair, her heels clicking on the floor. Jane had set up a makeshift office, and was working with Thor trying to figure out the origin of whatever horrid creature was trying to destroy the planet now.

He'd manage to convince Loki to come and assist with this mission. Upon being discovered usurping his father's throne, Thor had managed to convince Odin to leave Loki in his charge. Stripped of his powers and sent to Earth with exactly nothing but the clothes on his back, he'd spent the past two weeks moping around the tower, much to the consternation of everyone else. The only person who seemed hell bent on befriending him was Vision, who, well, hadn't been around for the worst of Loki's scheming.

She'd been dancing around him as well. Everywhere she went, she felt like he was watching. His gaze was hot as he raked it over her voluptuous curves. She wasn't sure if she had a developing crush on him, now that he wasn't trying to kill her, but his softly accented voice and piercing eyes were haunting her.

She walked up to the entry of the lounge. The rest of the Avengers were out training, but Loki, skilled though he was in hand-to-hand combat, wasn't especially interested in fighting. So he'd stayed behind. Jane was lecturing at Columbia. They were alone on the floor. Alone together. Which they hadn't yet been.

Loki's hands were drifting across the keys, drawing out a mournful melody, deep and vibrating. She stood there watching for a moment, shocked at the emotion that he was expressing through music. He lifted his head, and his blue-green eyes bore holes through her.

"I didn't know they had pianos on Asgard," she said casually, dropping the files on the kitchen table.

"Not as such," he told her, his long fingers spanning an entire chord. "But it's logical – like a puzzle. I was able to figure out how to make it speak the words it already knows."

"That's…" she trailed off. "Poetic."

"Music is a universal language," he shrugged.

"I can play violin," she told him. "Stringed instrument, with a horsehair bow. I should show you sometime."

His shrug was non-committal. He continued the melody, something almost otherworldly and magical in the notes. She sat on the edge of the piano bench and just watched his hands, graceful and elegant and perfectly formed for the task he was undertaking.

She couldn't help but be attracted to him. Part of her thought he was an arrogant little shit who needed to be shown his place in the universe once and for all, but part of her was intrigued by his quiet, deep-seated anger, and by the self-destructive behavior he engaged in. She always had a thing for the bad boys, which hadn't worked out well for her so far, but those were men. Men were men. Loki was… something lesser and more than them.

He patted the piano bench absently. "If you're going to stay, you might as well sit."

She perched on the edge of the bench, her legs together, hands folded elegantly in her lap. She'd turned herself so her back was to the keys, so she was looking him in the face.

"So, how do you like being human?" she asked awkwardly. He glared at her in contempt.

"It's… uncomfortable. No control over anything. Hunger, thirst, lust… it all wants to be slaked, and cannot be ignored."

"Well, there's always the old five-finger knuckle shuffle on the last one, if you can't get a girl," she joked. He looked at her, confused. She made a motion with her hand, then laughed.

He looked at her incredulously. She laughed even harder, tears of mirth running down her face.

"I'm sorry," she heaved. "I just… I can't believe I just did that."

"Am I that horribly unattractive that this thought is so funny?" he seethed, slamming the next notes out.

"Oh no," Darcy shrugged. "Quite the opposite. I'm surprised you don't already have a lineup of girls."

"I don't want girls," he mumbled, looking her up and down. She was very curvaceous, dressed in a blouse and pencil skirt and pumps, sophisticated and professional. He'd like to rumple that ironed silk. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Hey, not like I can judge. I barely even see my only friend anymore, she's pretty much too busy banging your brother, my sex life is pretty kaput. I could use a new intern-with-benefits. Ian ditched, thought it was too crazy."

"And what does that position entail?" he asked, curiously.

"Someone to hang out and watch movies with who isn't a total shithead, and who is attractive enough for me to want to bone on the regular. And who isn't completely stupid. I need someone who can write legibly."

"Seems an interesting proposition."

"Why, would you like to apply?" she teased. He dipped his head, bringing it close to her ear, exhaling softly through his nose.

"I'm considering it," he whispered huskily. Darcy gulped.

"Well," she said coquettishly. "Why don't we see what you can do?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

He stood up, coming around in front of her, and drawing her upwards. He placed her behind on the keyboard – the baby grand was Tony's, expensive, but nobody ever seemed to play it – and kissed her neck, drawing the triangle between her collarbone, shoulder, and neck with gentle kisses. He bent forward and crushed her mouth to his, wrenching her knees apart and stepping between them, his body already on fire and aching for her touch. Willing himself calm, his jaw worked as he kissed her, invading her mouth when she gasped. His hands slid up and down her arms, drawing gooseflesh in their wake, and came to fist in her hair. He pulled out the pencil and tossed it, sending it skittering away into the kitchen.

She leaned her head back, panting, when he stopped. He crushed her to him, kissing her again, crumpling the pink silk of her blouse, so feminine and pretty. He untied the bow at the neck, and began to undo the buttons, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. He tugged it out of her skirt, and began to focus on her breasts.

She was wearing a pale pink bra, her nipples standing to attention through the confected lace. Her breasts were large, heavy – he tested the weight of them in his hands, running his thumbs over them to the pebbles that were straining for his touch. He bent to kiss her again, noticing the flush that had spread over her face.

His hands wandered along her thighs, up under her skirt. He pressed two fingers against the damp cotton he found there, and rubbed experimentally, receiving a muffled groan in response. He knelt between her knees, pressing his face against the damp pink cotton, inhaling her scent. He hooked two fingers through the moistened crotch of her undergarments, and pulled them off in one swift move, depositing them – and her shoes – carelessly behind him.

She was laid bare before him – truly bare. Thor had mentioned something called 'waxing' that Midgardian women sometimes indulged in. It looked like Darcy was a fan. He slipped two fingers against her, pressing, as he kissed up the inside of her thighs, nibbling at the flesh he found there. He looked up at her, his electric blue eyes meeting hers, a spark of longing passing between them.

She fisted her hands in his hair, the inky black strands sliding through her fingers.

"Patience," he hissed against her, as she tried to urge his face towards where she wanted it. He pushed himself up onto his knees, and, pulling the lace down, exposed her breasts to the air. He captured one nipple in his mouth, rolling it experimentally between his teeth, a _frisson_ of pleasure going through him when she threw her head back and moaned.

"Damnit, Loki," she murmured. He smiled at her, and returned to the floor. Her eyes were dark, smoky with passion, her lips parted and trembling slightly.

For the first time in years, in the warmth of her gaze, he felt strong, confident, secure in who and what he was. With that confidence, he bent to plunge his tongue into the sweetness that tempted him from between her legs.

His mouth – warm, firm, wet, plunged into her folds.

 _Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God._

"I will make you call my name before the end," he said silkily. She was soft and pale and flawless and squirming against him, squirming and trembling and panting under his ministrations.

He chuckled. Evil delight, probably.

Darcy didn't know what he was doing now, with his head buried between her legs, but she wasn't sure she wanted it to stop. More fingers, she wanted more of the fingers.

Unabashed pleasure, wet and slippery, ran through her, as he licked and sucked and _oh my God, what is he doing with his fingers, just don't stop…_

"Please," she gasped, and he just buried his face back into her, tongue swirling, while those magical, knowing fingers stroked her to the moon and back again, her hands slamming down on the keys as she hung on for dear life.

Lightning struck.


	2. Chapter 2

_Your faith was strong but you needed proof_

 _You saw her bathing on the roof_

 _Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you_

 _She tied you to a kitchen chair_

 _She broke your throne; she cut your hair_

 _And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

* * *

Once again, Jane was off lecturing, the other Avengers were off doing training, as Tony Stark had set up a new line of empty robot suits, leaving Darcy alone in the tower with Loki. For the past week, since what Darcy had taken to referring to in her head as _The Piano Incident_ , she'd been avoiding being alone with Loki. Under the scrutinizing gaze of the others they were both in fine form – exchanging quips for sarcastic commentary. When no one was looking, he kept fixing her with these burning stares, a promise and a threat held behind the snapping of his long, agile fingers.

Now, as she walked down the hallway in knee-high black leather boots, a fuck-me skirt, and a corset top that pushed her breasts up just perfectly and cinched in her waist, a drawstring bag hanging from her hands, she knew the tables were about to be turned. She wanted him to stutter every time she licked her bottom lip. _I am woman, hear me and tremble._

She entered to find him sitting at the kitchen table, his back to her. His palms were flat on the table, on either side of a book that he was studying intently. She came up behind him, heels clicking on the floor. He didn't look up. _Arrogant little fucker_.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, and began massaging the taut trapezius muscle that flexed as he read.

"We're alone," she bent her head to his ear, biting her bottom lip.

"I know," he replied, his voice a low purr. "What do you want to do with this time?"

In a sudden instant, she'd grabbed both of his hands, wrenching them behind the chair. A handcuff snapped into place, the flash of silver almost invisible in her speed. She pulled a silken rope out of her bag, and starting tying him up, his hands behind his back, his legs to the legs of the plain wooden chair.

He was furious, twin flags of rage set high on his cheekbones. "What do you think you're doing, human?"

"Tying you up," she said simply. "Human."

In his Asgardian form, she'd never have gotten the upper hand with him. Not a chance. Clearly she'd been taking some classes in hand to hand or martial arts, because she had manipulated his joints in such a way that he could not get away, and he found the human form clunky and slow and even deaf.

"Untie me, you bitch," he hissed, fuming. "You don't know what you're playing with."

"Don't I?" she circled him slowly, and he looked her up and down as she bent close to his face. Her lips, stained cherry pink as if she'd been eating a popsicle, parted in anticipation. "I think I know exactly what I'm doing." She stood before him, arms crossed, legs apart. "I was afraid of you once, you know."

"You should still be afraid," he growled.

"Not now. You're mortal now. See how I do on a level playing field? Not so high and mighty, are you?"

His cursed mortal body was threatening betrayal as his loins stirred at her tone of voice. She traced a finger over his jaw line, sending shivers down his spine. He tried not to shudder at the touch, but the way his nipples hardened noticeably was much more difficult to control. She circled around behind him again.

"What's this, an Asgardian, caught off his guard?" she suddenly pressed the tip of something sharp against his jugular, her voice taking on a strange accent. She chuckled evilly, as the pulse of his life's blood pounded at the spot, running up the shiny metal into her hands, then withdrew the dangerous item, which she then snipped right beside his ear. She came around in front of him.

Her hands were threaded through the handle of a sharp silver pair of scissors.

"What is all of the Nine Realms do you think you are doing?" he growled, as she ran her hands through the inky black strands of hair.

"Updating your look," she told him dismissively, whirling a cape around his shoulders. "Lucky for you I'm a beauty school dropout." She drew one silken strand between two fingers, pulling it up and away from his head. She snipped the strand off deftly, leaving about an inch and a half of hair on his head. She held the strand up in front of his eyes, dangling it teasingly.

He gritted his teeth as she continued working around his head, snipping the pieces until they were an even length. She shook her hand through the strands, and then went to work on shaping it.

He stared at her in silent contempt.

"When was the last time you cut your hair?" she asked conversationally, as if she were an ordinary hairdresser and this were an ordinary barbershop.

"I was an adolescent," he told her. "Most men in our culture grow their hair."

"Well, in our culture, most men don't. But then again, most men here don't look like Asgardians."

He laughed at that, a merry sound, and shifted in his seat, relieving some of the pressure on his arms.

"Will you let me go, now?" he asked, rather politely, in fact.

"That would be foolish of me." He sighed. She swung the cape from his shoulders, sending the hairs on the floor billowing away, and brushed him off with the back of her hand.

She placed one foot on the edge of the chair, pushing it outwards from the table in one gesture, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of what she was – and wasn't – wearing under the skirt. He sucked in one steadying breath, his gaze upon her face. She leaned forward, her pale cleavage pushed up and standing out, stark white, against the black satin covering her breasts.

She slipped each button of his shirt through the hole in turn, tracing along his skin with her fingertips as she went. Sparks shot from his brain to his groin and back again, and she smiled to herself when he gasped as she brushed a nipple. Rolling them experimentally in her fingers, she elicited a low growl from him.

Darcy yanked his shirt from his pants, and pulled it down over his arms, the fabric adding to the restraints. The ache in his shoulders and forearms, the way his biceps were strained, the pain washed over him and contrasted with the delicious anticipation of touch and stroke and her hands on him. She blindfolded him with a tie.

She straddled him, then, and bent to kiss him. Instead of attacking his mouth, as he yearned for her to do, she ground against him, nothing separating their skin but the fabric of his black trousers – and kissed him chastely. He tried chasing her mouth with his face, only to receive a giggle and a shift from her.

"Something you'd like?" she asked, bringing her mouth around to kiss the tender skin underneath his ear. He didn't respond except for a low rasping breath.

She withdrew from him, then knelt in front of him, pushing his knees apart and sliding between them. She undid his pants with a deft hand, and released him – pulsing hot and heavy in her hand, the tip leaking with anticipation. She rubbed the moisture into the head, and he gasped.

"Oh, please," he told her.

"I warn you now," she looked at him pointedly. "I intend to make you beg before the end."

His answer was a strangled cry, caught deep in his throat. "You are evil."

"You haven't seen anything yet."

Her cherry red lips curled around him then, taking him into her mouth as her eyelids fluttered shut. He tried to thrust forward, but she held him fast, teasing the head of his cock gently and dizzyingly slowly. She cupped his balls with her warm hand, fondling the tender skin as she drew him deeper into her mouth, then released him with a pop. Her lip stain was smudged on him, which she admired proudly. He reached the level of lusty incoherence where he could only protest with animalistic sounds.

She swirled her tongue and dipped her head down, taking him deeply again.

Absolutely delicious anticipation and the pure, wondrous sensations that he could only experience minus one of his senses, she drove him higher and higher. The only thing he could see was the kaleidoscope of nerve endings firing in his brain.

She reached up and pulled off the blindfold. Loki's eyes met hers, the pupils dilated to the point of making his irises almost disappear entirely. He threw his head back at the sight of her kneeling between his legs, placing her mouth back on him.

"Please," he gasped.

"What's my name?"

"Darcy."

"I can't hear you," she taunted.

"Darcy," he said, more firmly than before. "My mistress. My lover. My queen."

"Such sweet words from your silver tongue," she licked him again, pumping him with one hand, then plunging him back into her mouth.

 _Oh please. Oh please please please._ Tongue and throat and those red, red lips, which drew him closer to the edge, threatening to throw him off altogether, but withdrawing at the last possible second. A dance of push and pull and tease and torment and pain and pleasure.

When he said her name again, it sounded like a prayer, and she stayed with him, swallowing his release.

* * *

 _"You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."_ –Antoine de Saint-Exupéry


End file.
